The whistle grows even quieter, then fades altogether.
I lean my forehead against the wood-paneled wall in front of me and press a hand to my chest. Drawing in deeper breaths, I try to think this through, to find some way out. I have no weapon, and even if I did, I don’t think I could fight Mateo. He’s twice my size, and his reputation precedes him. He’s ruthless, a murderer, the sort of man no one would ever willingly give their daughter to, not even my father, which is saying a lot. I’ve been out of the mafia world for over a year, but I still know the stories about Mateo Milani. Another shiver runs through me, and I stand up straight again and listen.
Nothing.
Minutes pass.
The upstairs is silent.
Has he left? No. I can’t fall for it. My mind conjures a vision of him standing right outside the closet door, a knife in his hand or worse. I know he’s going to hurt me. I just don’t know in how many ways—not yet.
I have to try to escape. It’s probably futile. I’ll most likely get caught before I even step a single foot outside the house. But I have to try. I can’t go back to my parents’ house, can’t go back to college, but I can run. I’ll run as far away from this place and these people as I can. Even as I tell myself this, I feel the creeping dread created by the certainty that no matter where I run, Mateo will find me. He paid a lot for me, for my last name. He’s not going to let me take it away from him.
Once again, I close my eyes and just listen. I stay that way for a few more minutes until my muscles begin to twitch, the adrenaline demanding I do something.
I reach for my dress to push it out of the cubby when I hear the bedroom door open.
My breath stops, my body going rigid.
“I know you’re in here, princess.”
My fingers curl into the fabric, making tight fists of tulle and lace. He’s bluffing, trying to draw me out. He doesn’t know I’m here.
Those footsteps, the ones I know will haunt my nightmares, come closer. So close that I know he’s standing outside the closet door.
“If you come out, maybe I’ll go easy on you.” His voice drips with amusement. “Treat you like a princess. How’s that sound?”
Shit. He’s not bluffing. He knows.
My battered heart sinks through the floor, and I want to scream or cry or do anything but stay trapped in this house with this horrible man. But I don’t. I stay silent, hoping something or someone can save me from Mateo Milani.
When I hear the door handle begin to turn, I go cold. My fingers lose feeling, my knees threatening to buckle.
The door swings open, faint light painting the closet as Mateo’s shadow is writ large on the wall beside me.
“Hmm.” He sighs. “Fuck.”
Then he closes the door.
I blink, disbelief filtering through me. It’s a trick. Has to be.
Then I hear his footsteps retreating.
His voice comes through. “She’s not up here. Have the men search the grounds. I’ll check the first floor.” He slams the bedroom door, and his quick footfalls disappear in a matter of moments.
This is it. My chance.
I shove my dress out from my hiding place, then work myself free. I swing open the closet door, not wasting a moment, then hurry to the door to the hallway.
Standing there for a few moments, I press my ear to the door and listen.
Nothing. It’s silent again.
I wait a little while longer to be sure and think about how to get out. There has to be more than one staircase leading up here. I just have to find one, get down to the first floor, and either find the kitchen and the knives, or better yet—find a way out. I can do this.
Steeling my nerves, I grip the door handle and turn it slowly so as not to make a sound. Once the latch is free, I take a breath and send a prayer to heaven that I can get out of this alive.
Then I pull the door open and come face to face with the devil.
4
MATEO
I take her throat in my palm and walk her backwards into the bedroom. “Did you truly think you could hide from me, princess? Under my own roof?”
She sputters, her hands going to my wrist, but she doesn’t scratch. No. She knows better.
With a hard kick behind me, I slam the door shut. She jolts in my grip. Fear flashes through her eyes. The pure, unadulterated terror I’ve brought out in quite a few people over the years. This is the first time I’ve ever seen it in someone so beautiful, which makes it all the rarer. I want to bathe in her horror, drown myself in her dread. When she whimpers, I get painfully hard.